


only break if you must, darling

by princess_zel



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - No War, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Otps, POV Azula (Avatar), Sokkla, Sokkla Week 2020, Zutara, Zutara Drabble December 2020, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_zel/pseuds/princess_zel
Summary: The Water Tribe prince doesn’t allow her hand to drop as she hides the way her lightning is raging up within her, against her, through her. It’s ravaging her, tearing her apart from the inside out.There’s a small fracture now, she knows, in her facade. Slowly, slowly, slowly, she’s weathering away, tossed by a heavy tempest like a shard of sea glass.
Relationships: Azula/Sokka (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 88
Collections: ZK Drabble December 2020





	only break if you must, darling

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic is mostly sokkla centric with some soft zutara moments sprinkled in. i've been swamped with work/finals/etc, and i found out about sokkla week 2020 like... literally the day it was slated to start, which this is why this is late, lol. 
> 
> i took the day 1 prompt for sokkla week 2020 and merged it with what i wanted to write for zkdd 2020 day 7 in order to create this fic. i'm very soft for the zutara/sokkla combo (it's like...my favorite thing ever), and there's a serious lack of those fics within both fandoms (guess who wants to single-handedly change that ahahahaha)
> 
> anyways, please enjoy! i'm actually really proud of how this fic turned out.

“This is foolishness.” The scroll bounces along the tiled floor, skidding far from where she initially flung it. Her painted lips twist into a sneer, brows knitting together determinedly. “If you think you’re going to succeed in shipping me off to some Agni-forsaken, icy wasteland, then you’re sadly mistaken, Father.” She pulls no punches, folding her arms over her chest and directing a glare at Ozai, seated on his throne above them, shrouded in flame. 

Her dum-dum of a brother, Zuko, ever eager to please their father, doesn’t support her the way she expects him to. Instead, he drops to his knee, bowing his head in respect. Azula rolls her eyes. Quite frankly, she doesn’t know why she even bothers with him sometimes. For the so-called Crown Prince, he can be as spineless as a turtleduck. 

Ursa shoots her a warning look, subtly shaking her head, as Ozai’s flames begin to leap with increasing intensity. She jumps when Ozai slams his fist down, the sound reverberating loudly throughout the throne room.

Still, Azula doesn’t relent, her fists balled at her sides. “You saw what happened with Lu Ten and his earthbender wife – Now Uncle’s forsaken us, and we’re on the brink of war with the Earth Kingdom. What can you even hope to gain from subjecting us to this?” The words come out as a snarl, and her golden eyes flash with raw anger.

“Azula.” He says her name sharply, spitting it out as though it disgusts him. Perhaps it does. “As you said, thanks to my idiotic brother who fled the throne and the filthy assassins who murdered your cousin and his wife, we are on the verge of _war,_ meaning we’ll be in need of powerful allies. As my children, you both are expected to support this country with politically advantageous matches. It’s your responsibility. We need allies in the South.”

Both Zuko and Ursa are weak. They won’t stand up against Ozai and his violent temper. But she will.

She _won’t_ be married off to live in some sexist, picken-headed society like the South Pole. “I’ve been slated to become a general in your armies since the first day you placed me in training, Father. You said I could _be_ something.” The sting of Ozai’s betrayal runs deep, flowing steadily through the taut veins of her lithe body. “Let Zuko marry some Water Tribe peasant from the frozen tundra – Keep me out of it!” She’s seething.

Zuko clears his throat, glancing at his sister with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Father, Princess Katara and I have remained friends over the past few years, and we’ve kept up a fairly steady correspondence. If you come to an agreement with Chief Hakoda concerning the match, then I’m sure that Katara and I will both do as we must.” He remains kneeling on the floor, not daring to meet Ozai’s gaze.

He’s doing this for her, she realizes. He hopes that perhaps Ozai will be content with only one union, allowing her to remain free from the confines of a loveless, political marriage. 

Perhaps she was too quick to judge him. But then, she catches the lovesick twinkle in his earnest golden eyes as he awaits their father’s reply. No, her judgments are never too hasty.

“My word is final, Zuko,” Ozai shoots back before throwing a withering glare at Azula. “You both will be wed within the next month. Ursa and Kya will be responsible for coordinating the four different ceremonies.”

“Four ceremonies?” Zuko nearly chokes, head snapping up to look at Ozai.

The wall of flames before the Fire Lord simmer slightly, and Ozai nods shortly. “You both will be given traditional Fire Nation and Water Tribe ceremonies which is the utmost honor. You’re all dismissed. I expect that the news may be difficult to process at first, but nothing you say will change the course of your destinies.” He glares at Azula pointedly.

She glares back fiercely – after all, she is her father’s daughter. 

Spinning on her heels, she storms out of the throne room, rushing down the corridors until she reaches her chambers. With a large sweeping motion, she knocks all the pretty trinkets her servants arrange daily off their resting place on her dresser. Only some of the glass shatters against the carpet, but she doesn’t check to see which ones are still intact. She never liked them anyways.

Picking up the old pai sho set gifted to her by her uncle before he left the Fire Nation, she launches it across the room, satisfied as the wood splinters against one of her walls and the pieces scatter all over her carpet. 

Stupid Father – How _dare_ he reduce her to a political bride. How _dare_ he act as though she’s a mere inconsequential tile in his political game of pai sho. How _dare_ he treat her the same as Zuko.

Stupid Mother – How can she just watch as her two children are being married off into loveless political matches? How can she, when her own has made her so miserable? How dare she expect Azula to accept this mistreatment silently?

Stupid Zuko – How can he be happy with this arrangement? How dare he feel content with the way Ozai and Hakoda are exchanging their daughters as though they’re insignificant?

She pauses. Zuko _did_ try to help her, to spare her from this madness in his own little way, even if he wasn’t ultimately successful. Still, she can’t believe that he has the nerve to love that Water Tribe girl. She’s not sure if she resents the fact that this arranged marriage is personally advantageous for him. Should she be happy for him? Should she congratulate him for finding love despite their father’s calculated meddling in their personal affairs?

“How long, Zuzu.” Her question comes out flat, and there’s a certain edge to her voice, razor sharp.

He freezes in her doorway, caught. Rubbing the back of his neck, he lets his gaze drop to her carpeted floor. “Uh… Well… For a while now. Katara and I have been friends for years now.”

Her eyes roll upward. “I know that, dum-dum. But how long have you been in _love_ with her?” She picks at the cuticles of her painted fingers, watching her brother from her peripherals. Sitting down in front of her vanity, she threads her fingers through her long, dark hair, finding his reflection in the mirror and reaching for her comb. 

“I… I don’t know what you mean, Zula,” he coughs, awkwardly stepping around the broken glass she’s left scattered around her room.

Her golden eyes narrow at him, catching his gaze in the clean cut of her ornate mirror. “How long, Zuzu.”

He sighs, burying his face in his hands. “A few years back. I know it’s not especially conventional to fall in love with someone only through letters, but… She has a beautiful soul, and she’s caring and compassionate and sweet and –“

Cutting in quickly, Azula snaps, “So you’re happy to marry her.” The fine-toothed comb she’s holding nearly breaks from the pressure of her slender fingers.

“You know I don’t have a choice, Zula,” he murmurs in reply, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “If I could, I’d meet her and court her properly, but that isn’t possible for us. At the very least, I wish I could spare you from a similar fate.” He presses his fingers to his temples. “But Father is very determined to not let me.” With a sigh, he adds, “From what Katara’s written me, her brother is a good man. Don’t worry, Zula. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

She mustn’t crack. Not now. Not in front of her big brother. Her back is held upright against her seat, and she sets her jaw. Her fingers tap nervously against the metal of the comb, nails striking against the bright rubies that line it. 

As her brother takes his leave, stepping around the shattered glass once more, she’s proud to say that not a single fissure exists in her carefully crafted facade. She’s determined to make sure it stays that way.

* * *

She hates it. She hates the way her hair is twisted into careful knots on the top of her head. She hates the way her long traditional dress criss crosses with red and white. She hates the way her lashes are curled and her feet are soaked and her lips are painted with color. She even hates the way her crown glints against her dark hair.

It’s a mockery.

It’s a complicated ceremony, but there are hardly any people present to witness. There’s Zuko with Katara, his new wife. There are Ursa and Ozai, her parents who’ve betrayed her and thrust her into this marriage. There are Hakoda and Kya, the parents of her betrothed. There is the Fire Sage who’s performing the wedding, old with knobby fingers and a wizened face and a rattling voice.

And then there’s her betrothed.

He stands across from her, and she can scarcely look at him. Her heart comes to life with burning anger at just the sight of him. 

She knows she is beautiful, and she knows he’s surprised. She saw the way his eyes trailed along her form when she first stood before him, and she didn’t hesitate in glaring harshly at him in return. Instead of crushing her small fingers with his large ones or stomping on her feet beneath her dress or schooling his features into a sharp glare of his own, he gave her a goofy smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

It’s the one he wears now still, accompanied with strong shoulders and a regal posture and a Fire Nation style topknot.

The hall is decorated beautifully with brilliant reds and blues and purples, gold and silver finery, sweet smelling blossoms, low burning incense. The Fire Sage drones on, and distantly, she hears herself repeating meaningless vows, broken words, and empty promises. She doesn’t have to open her ears to know that her betrothed is doing the same. Mindlessly, her body moves of its own accord, smoothly running through the ancient marriage rituals she’s known since she was little. Never in a million years did she think she’d ever put this knowledge to practice.

The Water Tribe prince does his best to mimic her movements, but she’s cruel. She rushes through the various ceremonies with heightened speed, too quickly for him to follow, wishing that this torturous day would end so she can set something on fire. Somehow, he manages to keep up with her, and that seems to irk her even more.

Instead of lighting her candle with the match the Fire Sage offers her, she flicks her wrist, a raging blue fire engulfing the candlestick and match alike. She can feel her father’s eyes on her back as her betrothed is left without a means to light his own candle. In her own way, through this small act of rebellion, she feels triumphant.

To her surprise, he merely lifts her candlestick, dipping the bright flame to catch and create a new one. 

The Fire Sage gives her a sharp look as he lifts the two burning sticks to meet a third, a new candle, meant to represent their new, steadfast devotion toward each other.

She watches as the three candles flicker. Slippery wax drips down, down, down before hitting a metal plate, made of gold and silver. As the Water Tribe prince’s hands weave their way back into hers, she fights back a grimace. She keeps her eyes on the candles as her voice echoes brokenly off the walls.

And suddenly, the wedding is over. She’s now married.

Azula, princess of the Fire Nation, wedded to a Water Tribe prince. 

She’s grateful that there’s no need for his lips to meet hers… not now, not yet. She doesn’t know what she’d do if she had to kiss him, here and now, in front of their families.

Catching the blue eyes of her husband, she fights the urge to burst into flames. Her brother has his arm wrapped around the slip of a girl, her husband’s little sister. There’ll be no such love for Azula.

Still, the Water Tribe prince doesn’t allow her hand to drop as she hides the way her lightning is raging up within her, against her, through her. It’s ravaging her, tearing her apart from the inside out. There’s a small fracture now, she knows, in her facade. Slowly, slowly, slowly, she’s weathering away, tossed by a heavy tempest like a shard of sea glass.

* * *

They’re standing before a ship, one from the Fire Nation, cut from cruel metal and crafted with harsh lines. Her husband gives it a look of disgust, turning his gaze filled with longing to a wooden Water Tribe boat. She doesn’t spare him a second glance, storming aboard the ship after her brother and his bride. Trailing behind her, her husband keeps looking over his shoulder to where a portion of her belongings are being packed onto the smaller boat.

Steeling herself carefully, she stops at the deck of the ship. Her husband stops beside her, and Zuko and Katara stand a little ways off. Their collective parents have already sought out their chambers, exhausted from all the preparation that comes with leaving for the South Pole.

For Ozai, Ursa, Zuko, and Katara, this trip will be temporary. Once both Water Tribe wedding ceremonies are complete, they will all board this metal ship again before returning to the Fire Nation, to the balmy weather, to the bright shine of the sun. 

But for Hakoda, Kya, Azula, and her new husband, this trip will be permanent. She will make her home in the frozen wasteland of the South Pole. Once a woman of silk and gold and finery, Azula will become one of furs and bones and beads. Her lips turn upward in contempt at the thought, leaning over the railing of the ship.

Regardless of whether or not she’ll return to see Zuko in the future, this will be the last good look she gets of the Fire Nation for quite some time. An odd mixture of anger and sadness settles at the pit of her stomach, and she wrestles herself from her husband’s tentative touch.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as Zuko cradles Katara against the railing, whispering into her dark mass of curly hair. Their matching expressions of unbridled joy only serve to her anger further. She should look away. She should. But as Zuko’s lips capture Katara’s with a shy eagerness, as his arms lovingly cage his bride against the metal rails, as Katara cups his face in her hands, she can’t help huffing in annoyance.

At her displeasure, Zuko stiffens. “Sorry, Zula… We’re just…”

“We were just caught in the moment,” Katara supplies, her cheeks flushing lightly.

Azula doesn’t miss the way her husband shoots a glare at his little sister. “Do you really have to do that now? Here? You’re my little sister, for Tui’s sake.”

Further tangling herself in Zuko’s arms, Katara sticks her tongue out at him childishly, “So what, Sokka? I’m also a married woman now so you can shut it.” Then, she’s twisting in Zuko’s embrace, meeting his gaze. “Since we’re so unwanted now, I take it we should find our quarters?”

Zuko grins wolfishly, kissing her again. “Of course, Katara.” Without much adjustment, he leads her away, arm wrapped around his new wife’s waist securely. 

As they take off together, sickeningly in love, Azula rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the Fire Nation shores. “I can’t stand him.” She says it without thinking. She doesn’t mean to leave him with an invitation to speak, but she realizes her mistake far too late.

“I can’t stand my sister sometimes either,” her husband divulges, leaning his unfairly fit body against the railing. “She’s bossy and annoying and overbearing… but she’s still my little sister. I’d kill if someone hurt her, and that includes your brother. If he hurts her, he’s dead meat.”

She doesn’t want to speak with him. Her golden eyes seek the waves as they roll slowly beneath the ship. They’re finally moving, each crest and trough of water stealing her away, taking her farther and farther from her home country. Just the thought makes her feel queasy, but she fights to keep her features disinterested and neutral.

Just because they’re now married doesn’t mean she has to tolerate him… to speak to him… to like him… No. Azula is quite content with hating him.

He’s just a dumb, sexist peasant from the South Pole. He’s going to try to ensnare her. He’s going to try to keep her trapped. He’s going to smother her heat, her fire, with his cold, his ice. He reaches for her again, and she jerks away, glaring daggers at him. With a lopsided grin, he retreats, but again, the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost think he’s hurt that his advances are continually rejected.

“Azula,” he tries, the smooth baritone of his voice piercing the depths of her soul. “You know we’re married now… Is it really so difficult to believe that we could at least try to like each other? To be friends, at the very least?” The rocking of the ship does little to unnerve him, and she’s sure he’s spent countless hours out on the open sea. He seems to be at ease despite the roiling waves while she just feels sick to her stomach.

The Fire Nation is now a mere blink in the distance, and the salt spray flies upward, hitting against her exposed arms. She narrows her eyes at him, barely holding back a snarl. “You and I both know very well that we’ll never truly be _friends,_ Sokka.” It’s the first time she’s ever said his name.

There’s power in a name, or so it seems. Sokka, at the very least, is surprised. “Not friends? How about,” he leans in, that stupid grin on his face, “lovers?”

She scowls at him, stomping across the deck in the direction of their quarters, _“Neither."_ Then, she has the good sense to toss back, “And don’t get any stupid ideas, peasant. You’re sleeping on the floor.” Her heels click against the metal floors viciously, and she pulls her silk wrap around her even tighter.

“So not lovers?” Sokka calls after her jokingly. She’s not sure if he realizes how foolish he sounds, and she’s also not sure if he’s trying to make her feel better in some twisted sort of way. 

Either way, she barely suppresses a few choice insults she’d like to sling back at him. Once again, she collects herself, but she feels herself slipping more and more. How much pressure can her glass house withstand? The longer she remains in it, the flimsier it seems.

* * *

She hates it. She hates the way her hair is braided intricately with loops and beads and pieces of carved bone. She hates the way the ceremonial furs seem to swallow her whole, eating her alive. She hates the way the red paint is smeared along her forehead, forming a radiant sun. She especially hates the way the betrothal necklace sits at the hollow of her neck, frozen and stiff against her skin.

It’s a party.

It’s a warm gathering, and the whole village is there to witness it. Instead of two ceremonies, Kya’s decided that there will be only one, celebrating both couples with equal fanfare and vigor. There are Zuko and Katara, wearing matching smiles, hands clasped together tightly. There are Ursa and Ozai, dressed in furs dyed vibrant red. There are Hakoda and Kya, both beaming in blue. There’s Kanna, Sokka and Katara’s grandmother, looking incredibly pleased. There’s the Water Shaman who’s performing the wedding, middle aged with a crooked nose and a scruffy beard and a booming voice.

And then there’s her husband.

He stands beside her, and she glances at him occasionally. His blue eyes are crinkled in laughter as he nearly drops their chunk of tiger seal blubber on her, and she glares at him, elbowing him sharply in the ribs. Zuko’s attempting to give his over to Katara, and the wrapped blubber is somehow slippery in his gloved hands.

While her hair matches Katara’s, braided and beaded and intricate, Zuko’s matches Sokka’s, tied back in a warrior’s wolftail. They all wear parkas, but Sokka’s fits his broad frame far better than Zuko’s does. Katara’s furs have been dyed bright red to double Zuko’s, and Azula’s have been dyed a deep blue to pair with Sokka’s.

The bitter wind stings her cheeks, even as she attempts to copy Sokka’s movements throughout the ritual. He goes slowly enough for her to follow, nodding at her encouragingly every now and again so that she knows what she’s doing is right. Off to the side, Katara does the same for Zuko, but Azula expects as much of them, considering how grossly in love they are. She isn’t, however, expecting the same courtesy from Sokka and is a bit surprised at the kindness of the gesture.

The village, a small portion of the whole tribe scattered throughout the South, all stand around them on the ice shelf, watching as the four recite ancient vows of promise to each other. 

Sokka holds a hand out to her, and she only hesitates a second before accepting it, wrinkling her nose at his soaked glove. She may not understand the significance of the slab of tiger seal blubber, and she may not know the reason for the marks drawn along their foreheads, but a strange sense of belonging rises up within her as she stands before the village, presented as Sokka’s wife.

A feast is then served, in celebration of the two couples. All of the furniture is made of ice, formed by careful bending; when Katara readjusts Zuko’s seat behind him with a swirl of her hand, Azula raises a brow. So Zuko’s wife is a waterbender.

Her lips start to tilt upward when she finally notices Sokka shoveling food down his throat as though he hasn’t eaten in days. Registering her gaze on him, he snaps his head upward to grin at her, accidentally dropping a sea prune onto the icy ground. “Damn it,” he groans, picking it back up. “Five second rule,” he informs her, popping it into his mouth.

She wrinkles her nose in feigned disgust, “That… is gross, Sokka.”

Katara, leaning over Zuko’s lap to catch her gaze, nods her head, “He’s very gross. I’m so sorry that you’re going to have to put up with him, Azula.”

Casting her sister-in-law a dry look, Azula replies flatly, “Well… I suppose I could say the same for you.” Her eyes soften when she meets Zuko’s, silently letting him know that she’s only half teasing.

“Hey!” Zuko exclaims anyways, nestling even closer to Katara. “Agni, I’m so glad we’re not staying here,” he rubs his hands together briskly, creating a small flame. “It’s too cold.”

Proudly, Azula lifts her chin, glancing over at her older brother, “Of course you wouldn’t stay here. Only the most superior of firebenders could survive such a frozen wasteland.” Glancing at Sokka out of the corner of her eye, she snaps her fingers, holding a flickering blaze within the palm of her hand. 

He watches her with interest, still wolfing food down as quickly as he can manage.

The party lasts late into the night, and lightly buzzed from liquor, Azula doesn’t even notice when Sokka slings an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to their home once most of their guests have left. Stumbling slightly against her husband, she’s barely able to stand upright, lighting a bright fire at the center of their room.

She’s barely coherent as Sokka removes her ceremonial furs, wrapping her in something far cozier. Somehow, they lie side by side, and he smiles at her, brushing a few stray wisps of dark hair away from her face, elegant braids falling apart beneath her. This time, it reaches his eyes, and through her tipsy haze, Azula decides that she likes it.

Curling up beside him, she doesn’t protest when he throws an arm around her, drawing her even closer. When he sleepily hides his face in the crook of her neck, she wonders, to herself, if allowing herself to shatter would really be so bad after all.

* * *

It’s not easy, entering life at the South Pole once her family leaves for the Fire Nation. It’s very easy to overlook her new husband when she’s surrounded by all the people she can halfway tolerate, like her father and Zuko. It’s not easy when she has to cook dinner for the family with Kya or hide her grimaces of annoyance from Hakoda or act as though she’s compliant with whatever Sokka plans for the days.

In some ways, her life is more simplistic. Her routine is planned for her, and living becomes relatively monotonous.

The spark of anger that exists between Ozai and Ursa isn’t present between her and Sokka. Neither is the pleasant comfortability that exists between Kya and Hakoda. Neither is the sweet adoration that exists between Zuko and Katara. There’s simply… confusion.

At first, she’s harsh and mean, attempting to provoke her husband as a way of combatting the boredom and anger she feels at being here. More often than not, though, he doesn’t take the bait like she expects – Her vicious threats and snide remarks and snobby insults all affect him as little as water harmlessly rolling off the back of a turtleduck. She doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

She rises before Sokka in the mornings, the summer sun calling to Agni’s fire burning in her veins. Assisting Kya with breakfast, she leaves her husband buried under a thick layer of furs. At first, she rebels, as she’s prone to, but Kya handles it all with grace and some quick-tempered fire of her own. She soon finds that she might perhaps like Kya. There’s a way that the older woman understands her when Ursa simply didn’t.

When Kya adjusts her arms or chides her gently when she’s stirring a stew, Azula doesn’t snap back anymore. She takes it with a careful smile, heeding the loving instruction of her mother-in-law. Occasionally, they disagree, but more often, Azula finds Kya to be right, even if she won’t ever admit it aloud.

Hakoda often works with the men of the village, leaving little time for interaction with his daughter-in-law beyond a kind smile in the morning and a grateful “thank you” when she takes away his empty bowl after dinner. Still, he occasionally brings her letters from the Fire Nation, ever amused at her supposed reluctance to receive them. He knows that she tucks the parchments into her parka, saving them for later when she can pore over them that night; he also knows that Sokka occasionally reads them over her shoulder as well, interjecting here and there, much to her own feigned annoyance.

Loathe as she is to confess it, she likes those nights with Sokka. They’re calm and peaceful, and she can’t really find a good reason to be mad at him (try as she might). Sometimes he even threads his fingers through her dark hair, fiddling with the strands as they both read over the letters sent by their siblings. 

Any correspondence she receives from her parents ends up being tossed to the edge of their little home. She doesn’t want to hear from them. They, after all, are the reason she’s here in this Agni-forsaken ice box.

She enjoys hearing from Zuko, though, and Sokka enjoys hearing from Katara. The two lovebirds have slipped easily into married life, far quicker and smoother than she and Sokka have. When they receive word a few months later that Katara is pregnant, they’re not at all surprised. On a scrap of new parchment, Azula scribbles a few thinly affectionate words for her dum-dum of a brother before Sokka writes out a whole damn novel to congratulate the expecting parents, squishing as much of his messy script onto the page as he can.

Those aren’t the only moments she enjoys with Sokka, though. Much to her chagrin, she finds herself enjoying their strolls through the village before Sokka has to set about with his tasks for the day. Slowly growing more and more comfortable with each other, eventually those strolls have hand holding and the occasional kiss on the forehead. Those are nice sometimes, as much as it pains her to admit.

Lips pressed together firmly, Azula walks with Sokka, his gloved hand in hers, as they leave their home to head to the center of the village. Along the way, they’re stopped by a group of small children, all with their little hands on their hips.

“Hey!” one of them calls, her lip jutting out in a pout. “Yesterday, you said you would play with us tomorrow morning… Today’s tomorrow morning, Uncle Sokka!”

Throwing his free hand up in the air, Sokka protests jokingly, “Listen, kiddos, as much as I would _love_ to play with you all, there are some things that I really need to get –“ He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Azula drops his head and slides deftly away as the snowball smacks against Sokka’s chest. A small smirk works its way onto her lips as he sputters, dusting the snow off his parka.

“You said you’d _play_ with us!” another kid pipes up, already launching another snowball.

“Have mercy on me!” Stumbling backwards into a run, Sokka breaks into a playful grin, letting the kids chase him around the village and throw snowballs at his back. 

_“Never!!”_ the kids yell back at him, slinging their snowballs at him with reckless abandon, little legs able to keep up with Sokka’s slow jog.

When her husband finally arrives back at her side once more, she can’t resist arching a brow. “You have snow in your hair, Sokka.”

Checking his warrior’s wolftail, Sokka groans goodnaturedly, shaking his head so that the snow slips from his hair back onto the ground. “You little rascals,” he growls at the kids, tickling a few of their tummies as they giggle with hysterical laughter. He wastes no time in sweeping Azula into his arms – something he’s never quite done in public before – before rashly dipping his head down to meet her lips with his own.

She freezes against him, countless thoughts racing through her mind, before relaxing into the kiss, somehow unable to find it within her to be angry at her Water Tribe peasant. The kids chorus a collective “ewww!” before losing interest, racing back to the village to wreak more havoc.

They don’t speak, but he holds her close, flush against his lean body. And Azula thinks that maybe this is it… Maybe the glass will splinter and crack and break. Maybe she will fracture and fall and crumble along with it.

* * *

He’s teaching her, but she’s not really listening. He’s talking animatedly, waving the sharp fishing spear around through the cold air as though it’ll help her understand better. “Do you get it, Zuli?” he asks finally, tearing his attention away from the hook to meet her gaze.

She blinks.

Taking her silence as his cue to reiterate his instructions, he launches back into his lesson on how to properly lean over the boat and spear an unsuspecting fish Sokka-style. He speaks, and she watches him, waving his hands animatedly, almost jabbing her with his spear a few times.

Each time the spear gets closer and closer to stabbing her nose, she brings up an arm to block it, watching her husband with an annoyed, amused sort of fondness. “Sokka.”

He snaps his attention to her instantly. “Yes?”

“Let’s go,” she says, gesturing to their small umiak awkwardly. “The fish… The fish don’t like to be kept waiting. Or something like that,” she mutters lowly.

Assisting her into the sturdy umiak, he follows after her, handing her a spear of her own. “Very true – And we’ll have to be sort of quiet too. The fish have ears. They can hear us.”

Narrowing her brows slightly, Azula replies flatly, “Somehow, I don’t quite recall ever seeing a fish with ears before, Sokka.” Still, she sits with him silently as the umiak drifts along the icy waters.

Occasionally, Sokka will dart over the side of the umiak, rocking it dangerously as he peers down into the water, spear in hand. Not wanting to meet a frozen grave quite so soon, Azula grips the edges of the small boat tightly, sure that her knuckles are white beneath her warm gloves. 

It’s somehow peaceful here, the sun glittering against the ice in pretty patterns, the water slowly flowing westward, the umiak lightly floating along with it. Despite the chill, Azula manages to keep temperate, occasionally calling to her inner fire for reinforcements. Sokka’s at ease, his body constantly shifting from a slouched position to an alert one as he watches for fish.

Somehow, by the end of their outing, Sokka’s filled the bottom of the umiak with quite a decent number of the wriggling creatures. Azula subtly moves her feet away from them, disliking the way some of them still flop about. Brandishing her own spear, she ends the few that remain alive, wrinkling her nose at the task.

“Hey, thanks, Zuli,” he beams at her, dropping his spear to the bottom of the umiak.

She follows suit as her cheeks flush. She tells herself privately that it’s just from the cold, but the devilish look in Sokka’s eyes tell her that he’s not fooled a bit. When they arrive back at the village, Kya helps her up from the boat, congratulating them both on their haul today. Similarly, Hakoda claps his son’s back proudly, nodding at some of the other men to load the fish off the umiak and into the village.

Hand in hand with her husband, Azula makes her way back to their home, and Sokka tosses his soiled gloves against the icy ground. As she sits toward the center of the room, stoking a warm fire that hisses against the freezing air, she watches her husband carefully.

Just over a year ago, she’d been determined to become a powerful general within her father’s army. Ten months ago, she found out she was to be married to a man she barely knew, a man she hadn’t seen they were both mere children. Nine months ago, she was wed to him, alongside their siblings, absolutely furious at the whole affair. 

But now, she’s not sure if she’d have chosen differently if she could.

As he sinks to the ground beside her, engulfing her in his strong arms, she bites back a snappy retort despite enjoying their banter. No… Here she can unravel, shattering into a million pieces with the man she thinks she’s grown to love. 

As he holds her against him, she slips a hand beneath his parka, and his heart thunders in his chest against her soft fingertips. And somehow, despite the way she’s broken into countless shards of sea glass, she cherishes the fact that it beats only for her.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading <333 if you'd like to say hi via [tumblr](http://elsie-zel.tumblr.com/), please do! i always love hearin from y'all.
> 
> i apologize for any inconsistencies/mistakes throughout this - i literally wrote it in like four hours and didn't proofread it as much as i probably should've, lol.
> 
> more sokkla/zutara to come from me, although it may not all be on time (cries in stem major). also, i may podfic this eventually. i think.
> 
> elsie


End file.
